Bowie

2

Bowie.

          I don't even know anybody who's last name is Bowie. This shouldn't even be a big deal. But for some reason I had to think long and hard about this sweatshirt. So I sat in the window thinking of what I was going to say to this mysterious Bowie. I don't even know where to find them.

          Until then, I decided, I'll watch SNL on Netflix, seeing it wasn't live because it's Friday. I would have to go back to the Caffè anyway, even if Bowie wasn't there tomorrow, they would come back at some point. Violet, my cat, followed me to the couch and hopped on my lap.

          I sat there for about 10 minutes before realizing I still had the sweatshirt on. What if Bowie is allergic to cats. I jumped and Violet scampered away under the table. The sweatshirt was making me paranoid. I turned SNL off and walked to my room changing into an oversized shirt and curling up under the blankets on my bed.

***

          My eyes scanned the caffè. One pair of eyes were staring at me. Those pair of eyes stood up and walked over to me.

          "Hello. I'm David." He held out his hand. I took it. "David Bowie." He smiled.

          "Ilse. Ilse Williams. Hey, I'm sorry I took your sweatshirt... I hope you're not allergic to cats." I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and handed it to him. He walked to an empty table and sat down, pulling off his backpack and taking out a sweatshirt. I took a look at him while he put his things back.

          No wonder his sweatshirt fit me. He was about the same weight as me, and a couple of inches taller. His hair was a mixture of blond and red obviously dyed. He wore a white shirt and black skinny jeans.

          He looked back up and smiled, a confused smile. "Oh I'm so sorry. I should go now." I turned around.

          "No, wait!" He called out. I turned back around. "Would you like to go dancing?" He asked me. I smiled.

          "Dancing?" I asked, he nodded, his smile fading. I thought about it. Did I want to know more about this mysterious David Bowie? Yes I did. I smiled at him, hoping I didn't look like a total doofus. "I would love to go dancing."

          "Wonderful, where should I pick you up?" He asked. I wrote down my address.

          "I live on the 9th floor. Apartment 950." I turned and walked out of the  Caffè for real this time and to my car. While I was driving to my apartment I thought about how he didn't tell me what time he was going to pick me up. That was odd. But I liked it. There was some weird feeling about him. But it just made everything more interesting. And Bowie definitely was interesting.